


oxen free

by heyabooboo



Category: Ready or Not (2019)
Genre: Daniel Lives, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I hope, Post-Canon Fix-It, let's do the time loop again, only... kind of different?, profanity up the ass, the rating is purely there for the language, violence is mentioned but not outright explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22316068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyabooboo/pseuds/heyabooboo
Summary: “And did you ask me if I wanted to be saved?” his sigh is bone-weary and it’s obvious, how tired he is of this: of his family, of the expectations and his life. “Maybe I’m okay with dying, Gracie.” a soft frown flashes onto his face at the nickname, a curious light to his eyes, asking himself why he just called her that particular nickname and she finds herself shrugging, ignoring it.“‘Kay, well, I’m not.” she says and takes another drink.
Relationships: Daniel Le Domas/Grace Le Domas
Comments: 22
Kudos: 386





	oxen free

**Author's Note:**

> holy shit, it's been so long since i've written anything that wasn't directly tied to a character i spent _months_ trying to understand the thought processes of. not only that but me?? writing from a feminine perspective?? nigh unheard of. 
> 
> i hope you all enjoy this — i didn't have a beta reader, so all mistakes are mine. if you see any glaring ones, please let me know & i'll fix, which also goes for tags. 
> 
> thanks for reading and i hope this satisfies one more time loop fic for the fandom. c:
> 
> feel free to come say hi on [tumblr!](http://heyabooboo.tumblr.com)

Grace won.

She fucking won.

Fuck rich people, fuck Le Bail, fuck Alex above them all. 

She’s lighting up a cigarette from Becky’s case — she needs to feel something real, the burn of the smoke in her lungs — when a shadow falls over her, blocking her against the rising sun. From the sweet warmth of victory. Fuck, is everything going to become a metaphor now? Or was this just her way of trying to cope with the trauma of the night?

Fuck. 

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” the voice curses and somewhere deep, she’s laughing. Her thoughts and her body are disjointed, her body just going through the motions while her thoughts spin and spin and spin. 

Jesus had nothin’ to do with it, bud. It was The Other Guy, she thinks. 

She takes another drag off the cigarette, trying to ignore the way the blood’s beginning to itch on her skin. 

There’s heat at her back from the house, but it’s cold in the shade of this shadow. The cuts from the fence sting like they’re the ones on fire, but she can’t will herself to move. She’s idly aware she’s responding something to him, but she’s not really here, anymore. Oh… so this is what shock is. Feels like all her senses have been packed with cotton, insulating her from reality. 

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t realize the man’s now in front of her, speaking. There’s a groan from the house and he offers her his hand. That comes startling into focus first, the indents of the folds on his fingers, the wrinkles of his palm lines. Her eyelids flutter, her trying to get herself linked back to her body when she looks at his face and almost startles. 

It’s Daniel. 

“Are you alright to stand?” he asks like he’s asked her the question already, and hell, maybe he has. It’s not as if Grace is on top of her perception of her surroundings at the moment. 

“What?” she’s distinctly aware of her ankle throbbing, her muscles sore. 

His eyes are melted chocolate, perfect in their comforting depths and she finally finds tears to shed for a Le Domas. “Alex said you—” she’s cycling through the stages of grief at an alarming rate, since she’s already on pain and guilt, speeding through shock and denial like they're a yellow light a block away from work and she’s already ten minutes late.

The tears build up until everything becomes watercolors, bleeding together and then she blinks or maybe it’s the shakes that get to be too much but they clear from her vision and she sees that it’s not Daniel at all; just a boy with curly brown hair and kind brown eyes. The nose is all wrong now, she can see that. 

Yeah, she’s definitely shaking. “I’m sorry,” she immediately apologizes, feeling ridiculous for even thinking it was Daniel to begin with. He hadn’t even had blood stains on his collar. “I thought you were s-somebody else.” she stutters over the word. Why is she stuttering? She never has a problem finding words. 

He pauses, squatting in front of her and she feels suddenly very young, even though the man looks to be just as old as she is. There’s hubbub around them, firefighters yelling, the crackling of the fire, police and rescue combing the grounds for any survivors. But people seem to be going in slow motion, overlooking the two of them.

“I’m charged with deciding Balance. That justice was upheld, that one side is not…” he pauses, considering his words, and she watches him shrug. Like he’s talking about the fucking weather. “Heavier than the other.” 

What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” she echoes her thoughts, very nearly sure that she’s lost touch with reality. 

Half of his mouth turns up in a smile, obviously not taking offense to her choice of language. “I’m leaving the choice up to you, Grace.” she never told him her name. Why does that make goosebumps break out over her skin, making it feel like it’s crawling over her bones? “Is there balance in what happened, or does there need to be a change?” 

And the way he says that, the power she feels behind it, it feels - she can’t describe how she knows - but it feels _Holy_. Balance, he’d said. Which meant, if Le Bail existed, then an equal, opposing force also has to exist. A Good force. 

Holy _shit_.

“Holy shit, you’re—” 

“No, no,” he interrupts her with a laugh, “Just an angel.”

Just an angel, as if that’s something to be blasé about. 

“D-daniel,” she barely says, reaching for him as if she’s going to beg him to bring him back in the next breath. To plead with him to make him listen about that the fact that Daniel seeing himself as the black sheep of the family, the _fuck-up_ , was a _good thing_ because he wasn’t _like them_ . But before she can get the words out, he cups his hands against her elbows and nods, like he… like he _understands_ without her having to say anything more than just his name. One hand comes into contact with her skin, since she’d long torn that sleeve to wrap around her injured hand, and the touch feels… normal. Weren’t angels supposed to feel different?

“He must be why I was called to investigate.” he says, murmured as if he’s speaking to himself, eyes unfocused over her shoulder. He nods in thought before his eyes come back to her and he takes in a breath. Grace feels like she’s been drawn so taut, she’ll snap under the pressure of waiting for his sentence, like a piano string or a rubber band. Please, she pleads, praying to whomever will listen. 

He doesn’t say anything close to what she’s expecting. “Since he is of Le Domas blood, Le Bail has a claim on him. You’ll have to fight for him, I can’t just bring him back.” she blinks. What does that mean? She’ll have to fight for him? She just fought for her own life, she’s in no condition to go traipsing through Hell— “You’ll have to win The Night again. Only not just for yourself, but for him as well. Is that what you want?”

Her breath leaves her as the shakes overtake her, feeling too tired to fight it. He goes unfocused as she lets that sink in: go through the night again. Of getting shot. Of getting stabbed. Of getting betrayed. It would be so easy just to take the easy way out, to say she was lucky to have escaped with her own life. To say that Daniel dying didn’t upset the balance.

A sob wrenches out of her and she lets herself feel that self-pity, crying a few tears, knowing she’s going to willingly walk through the proverbial fire to try and save him. Hell, maybe even the very real fire. She takes in a large breath, snot threatening to choke her and steadies herself only by taking the last drag of the cigarette. There’s still tears on her cheeks when she meets his eyes.

“Yes.” 

  
  


***

  
  


It’s jarring, one minute sitting on the back steps, feeling the warmth of the fire as it consumed the goddamn mansion, and within the next blink, being in the Family Members Only game room, sitting around the — Jesus Christ, **really**? — pentagonal table. These assholes really didn’t know the meaning of ‘subtle’. 

She tries to remember her lines in the face of seeing these people alive again, knowing that they know what the card means, but not letting them know that _she_ knows. Hm, that’s a little complicated, but she thinks she makes it work. 

Alex’s face, her _husband’s_ face, doesn’t look quite as pale as she thought she remembered. Mostly he looks… amazed? _Is she reading that right? No, can’t be._ When she flips over the card, still trying to play the role of Confused Participant. 

She doesn’t remember seeing Daniel’s face turn to steel, but it makes a warmth blossom in her gut, knowing he’s just as sickened by it in the beginning. He looks a lot more disappointed in Alex as his younger brother turns to their father, still standing at the point of the table. Her eyes jump from the card to Tony, to Helene, sitting to his left, Becky to his right. His wife looks sick, pity evident on her face as she looks to her middle child. Helene just looks… murderous, very much like an albino raven, ready for the feast.

She wonders, as she stands to make her quick toast, how much those ‘don’t change anything’ theories are true. Though, was this time travel? Not truly, right, since she’s technically _reliving_ it? Hm, she thinks as she takes in a breath and swallows half the flute of champagne. Time to test those theories.

First and foremost, she decides to skip the dumbwaiter, skip meeting up with Alex all together, and subsequently, the death of Clara - she doesn’t need to see that again - but she does swap her shoes out, grabbing a small pair of scissors to cut the length from her dress in the servant’s tunnels. The record finishes playing by the time she peeks her head out into the hallway, making sure nobody’s around, most of all Emilie with her little pistol. 

She already has a glass of Wild Turkey poured for Daniel, opting to wait in the corner of the Billiards Room, on the other side of the hidden doorway he comes walking out of. She wonders, as she shifts forward to cause her skirts to swish, if he’ll even believe her. 

“I just came… to get a drink,” he says with a frown marring his brow, blinking at the glass and then at her in the corner. His eyes track to the wall, to the right of the tunnel, where she’d stood before. “I have to— _shit_ this is some weird deja vu.” he mutters into a healthy sip of the liquid, eyes closing as he gently shakes his head. Grace keeps herself quiet, still not sure how she’s going to explain it.

“No, you don’t.” her voice is soft, a tightness to her throat. “You don’t have to call the others. You can help me.” she wants to give in to the shakes as she watches him pour an extra glass of alcohol, knowing it’s for her. 

“This doesn’t end well for you,” he won’t look at her, but she won’t take no for an answer. Not again. “I just don’t want to be the one to serve you up.” 

Instead of keeping her distance, she steps closer, makes sure to brush their hands together as she takes the glass. See, Daniel, I’m _human_ and _alive_. He grimaces at the touch and she takes a sip, nearly choking, unfamiliar with the burn of the bourbon. 

“You die,” she pauses, licking her lips, “protecting me. Chastity finds a gun. Shoots you after you poison them during the ceremony.” she’s so on edge, her entire body is shaking, obvious in the way the liquid is sloshing. He’s openly staring at her now, no longer unable to look at her. “That’s why this is familiar: we’ve already done this.” she has so much of the night to go, but she doesn’t want to repeat it, either. 

Grace watches him blink, his eyes switching from unfocused to laser sharp in moments, darting over parts of the room: the table, the chair, the painting, her. His shoulders seem to drop even further, a heavy acceptance filling the air between them. “How many times has it been for you?” he asks, and she frowns gently, chin tilting just so. _That’s_ what he asks? 

“O-once. This is my second time.” he looks pensive at her answer, taking a seat. His gun is off to the side, propped against the table with the liquor. He’s obviously not thinking of using it. 

Daniel ends up nodding solemnly, eyes melting in the warmth of the fire as he stares into it, drinking from his glass. Hers is down by her side, held on only by her fingertips. His voice is raspy when he speaks, and she still finds comfort in it. “So is this Hell, or Purgatory?” She shouldn’t be surprised that he knows the pact is real, but she is. How does he know? Then again, maybe he doesn’t, maybe it’s one of those theoretical questions you ask when you’re in line at the DMV.

“Neither,” she takes another sip to try and calm her anxiety, her adrenaline. “I chose to come back. I chose—” his eyes are far less glassy than she remembers when he shifts them to her, confusion coloring the squint. 

“You _chose_ to do this again?” he asks after interrupting her with a snort she’d find unattractive on anyone else. 

Quickly, memory superimposes itself over reality and she sees him, bleeding from the neck, choking on the blood of his family as he tells her to go. Grace doesn’t want that ending again. 

“You must be just as batshit insane as Aunt Helene.” his words echo in the glass as he finishes the liquid.

She doesn’t waste time in telling him the truth. “Because you fucking _die_ Daniel, and I wanted to make sure—” but he just loves interrupting her tonight.

“And did you ask me if I wanted to be saved?” his sigh is bone-weary and it’s obvious, how tired he is of this: of his family, of the expectations and his life. “Maybe I’m okay with dying, Gracie.” a soft frown flashes onto his face at the nickname, a curious light to his eyes, asking himself why he just called her that particular nickname and she finds herself shrugging, ignoring it. 

“‘Kay, well, I’m not.” she says and takes another drink.

  
  


They come up with a plan. It’s a decent plan - not great, but it’s better than torching the place down with molotovs. 

Unfortunately, it goes to Hell and the night ends with Daniel taking a crossbow bolt to the stomach. 

“Oh, lady irony, you are not lost on me,” he groans after he hits the wall with his shoulder. Grace still doesn’t have use of her left hand, fucking _Georgie_ with that damn snubnose pistol she hadn’t thought Emilie had lost. Still, she makes it to sunrise, even if Daniel doesn’t, and meets her angel on the steps again. 

He makes idle small talk with her, lets her smoke the whole cigarette. “Do you want another chance, Grace?” he asks, and she hates that this time, she saw the life leave Daniel. She can’t decide which is worse: leaving him choking or being there until the end. 

“Yes.” and it starts all over again.

  
  


***

  
  


They go through four cycles before he asks her about Alex, and she has to watch his face as he comes to the realization that his brother isn’t any different from the rest of his family. 

“So, I was wrong. They don’t die because of you,” his voice is heavy in understanding. “They die due to their own choices.” She thinks she can hear his heart break. And she’s sure that she has some responsibility about their deaths, or at the very least, Becky’s on some nights.

She tells him about the first night, when Alex made his choice, and how angry he gets when she refuses his help, and how angry he is when she chooses Daniel over him. He’s quiet for a long time, after that.

They’re hiding in a spot that Daniel doesn’t believe anyone will find them in. It’s nothing supremely genius: just the wine cellar in the basement and she feels the shakes come back. She curls into herself, trying to make herself smaller, drawing her legs up against her chest. 

“Hey,” she’s huffing big breaths in through her nose, just _trying to keep it together_ when his hand fits over her forearm, drawing her attention up from her lap. Her lips separate to suck in more air, combating the panic that’s arisen, the tears once more blurring everything. “You know you don’t have to keep doing this.” 

She chokes on a sob, scoffing at him. He moves to sit next to her instead of across, mirroring her position. Grace knows this isn’t the way she’s going to beat Le Bail to save Daniel, but she doesn’t have any better ideas, either. She needs a sec to _process_. It’s been a traumatizing couple of nights.

“I just w-wanted a f-family.” she finds the stutter’s back and her arms pull her legs closer, her head shaking. “H-he didn’t even warn me. He didn’t _tell_ me anything, and then t…the… _fucker_ tried to go and b-blame it all on me.” there’s a long moment where she feels like she’s drowning before she pulls in a long breath through her nose, sniffling at the snot that’s arisen due to her tears. Daniel’s quiet next to her, somehow knowing she needs to say the words aloud. She needs to tell _someone_. And, well, he’s all she’s got. 

The shakes get so bad that she starts to rattle the bottles behind her and Daniel’s pulling her in, tucking her face against his shoulder and petting soothing hands over her back as she falls apart, mourning the life she had before, the expectations she’d had of Alex and coming to grips with the reality of the situation. She cries until she can’t cry anymore, and still, Daniel sits with her, uncaring of just how gross she’s made of his collar. 

“I loved him and all he did was lie to me,” she gives a final huff, her eyelashes and cheeks still wet, but she feels more solid, more put together in the aftermath of her breakdown. 

Daniel breathes with her for quiet moments, before he softly asks, “You know that conversation you overheard about Aunt Helene’s husband?” she nods against his shoulder, not necessarily up to the task of moving more than that. Daniel's arm is still around her, rubbing soothingly over her arm. She’s still hugging her knees. “It was my fault he got caught.” _that_ makes her tilt her head up, though she doesn’t pull away. 

He looks wrecked. Admittedly, she probably looks worse, sweating and crying her make-up off, and she waits for a further explanation, patient. Grace can be patient. But when none comes, she blinks at him slowly, tiredly. 

“You called them." tears rise and spill over his cheeks silently. She sees it as the most defining moment of his life, where all his guilt stems from, and asks the only question she needs an answer to. "Are you going to do that to me?” and it’s curious, denoting no judgment from her. She already knows the answer, of course. Why would she be here? She’s helping guide _him_ to realizing he’s not that boy, that he’d long given up the need to please his family. Probably once he saw the consequences, she thinks. 

“No.” he promises and just like the four nights prior, he dies protecting her.

***

  
  


Her angel is there, just as he always is. He’s a constant in the other constants throughout the night, it seems. The Billiards Room, Daniel’s protection, Alex’s betrayal, a cigarette with the sunrise, angel there with her. Lather, rinse, fuckin’ repeat.

"Is this just a lesson in futility?” she asks him, her head pounding from where she’d taken a damn marble bust to the face. Becky’s a goddamn trooper, and Grace has a high level of respect for her, even if she’s disgusted and hateful towards the family.

He’s sitting next to her today, letting her finish her cigarette, even if it’s taking her longer due to the fact that she feels like puking and she’s certain she has a concussion. “Do you think it’s futile?” he asks. “Is it pointless to try and save him?” 

No, she thinks, hiccuping on a sob. She’s just tired. She’s going to sleep for at least a week when it’s finally all done and over with. Fuck. Just the thought of a bed causes another sob to bubble up.

“Then how do I win?” she ponders aloud, taking a quick drag in and breathing the smoke out through her nose, cradling her hand against her temple. She feels it throb against her palm.

She watches out of the corner of her eye as he turns to look at her, watching her as she tracks the path of a policeman across the lawn. He doesn’t see them. Grace doesn’t know how she feels about that, existing in the in-between. She shudders, breathing in another drag as she questions how long she’ll be at this before she gives up, because it feels like she’ll never win. 

“I can’t tell you,” she sighs and gives him a bitchface, head rolling on her shoulder as she turns to look at him. He smiles gently at her. She rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath that makes her ribs stretch wide and groan in discomfort. “Not because of some cosmic rule book,” his hand motions to the sky above them. Grace’s eyes track his motion and follow the contrails left behind by flights that turn colors as the sun slowly rises. She doesn’t have the brainpower to think about a Higher Power and just what the fuck that means for them. “But because I don’t know. I’m just an investigator. I have… limited powers. Omniscience isn’t one of them.” 

Grace finds herself chuckling along with him, and the stretch of her mouth feels awkward, foreign after being through what she’s been through, for as many nights as she’s been through it. She takes the last drag of her cigarette and he sighs next to her. Do angels need to breathe, she considers, or does he do it for her benefit?

“Though I’ll tell you that in other instances, he’s been beaten by a loophole.” he sighs and she flicks her butt down onto the lawn. “You ready?” he asks and she nods. 

“Wait,” she feels more clear than she has during the whole conversation. “What’s your name?” 

He smiles. “Cam. You can call me Cam.” 

***

“Cam,” Daniel levels an unimpressed eyebrow her way, familiar tumbler in his hand. He has yet to take a drink from it tonight. She suspects it’s more a comfort kind of thing now. “Sure. Sure. Because that kind of a name inspires confidence. ‘Come, children, let’s pray to  _ Cam _ ,’.” Grace snorts, smile coming more easily with Daniel that it does at dawn. 

He smiles back. 

His hand comes up to rub over his chest, where he’d been shot the night before. She feels the phantom ache of her own injuries, sometimes, too, and the air goes tense between them. He sighs as he settles on the chair and tilts his wrist just so until he can read the time. They have time to rest for now. 

“So did he give you an idea as to how we’re going to win?” It’s Grace’s turn to sigh, her shoulder against the wall, ankles crossed and her own tumbler in hand, arm curled to tuck it against her chest. She shrugs her other shoulder and blinks as she shakes her head. 

“Just something about finding a loophole. But I don’t know what kind of loophole there is in this instance.” Daniel grunts, his eyes finding the fire, deep in thought. It’s quiet while he thinks. She can hear the footsteps of the other members of his family, echoing around the house. It’s almost surreal at this point.

He blinks his gaze away from the fire and turns to look at her. His face is open, vulnerable in its neutrality, eyebrows just barely quirked up. She finds herself imagining what he must have looked like on his wedding day, if he was as broken then as he is now. How deep does that self-loathing go? Back to adolescence, to the first Hide and Seek? Before that? She wonders how he looks without that weight, without the guilt.

_That’s_ what she’s fighting for, she decides right then. A life for him, without guilt. A life of healing and happiness and games without life-or-death stakes, that could be boxed up and put away in the linen closet until the next rainy day. Maybe a dog, too. And a _shitton_ of houseplants. Oh, fuck, she’s imagining a life for _them_ , she realizes with startling clarity. She finds it doesn’t bother her — where she would’ve left Alex, if his proposal never came… it’s not the same with Daniel. 

The Le Domases aren’t unattractive people, but there’s something intrinsically different when it comes to Daniel, so it’s no surprise when her body straightens with absolutely no input from her, and comes closer. It seems like a comfortable move on his part, to transfer the glass to his left hand, opening his arm to allow her to step even closer and settle against him. His right hand traces the satin of the waistline of her dress, and as their eyes meet, his silently question if she’s serious, if she’s okay with his touch, what she’s thinking.

She just smiles back, gentle in the way she clinks their glasses together. “To figuring this fucking thing out and beating the son of a bitch.” 

They both drink to her toast and she slides her fingers over the expensive fabric of his shirt at his shoulder and settles her palm against the back of his neck. She watches as he sucks in a breath, wondering if it’s due to touch, or because this is _her_ , his brother’s wife. Widow. Alex will be dead by the end of this, of that she has no doubt and she finds that this quiet moment of respite strengthens her resolve in solving this to maintain the balance. His fingers are soft when they reach up to pull her hand across his cheek, his lips finding her palm. 

It’s devastatingly romantic in its intimacy. 

She’d long dismissed the possibility of swooning over anything Alex did — it was always too flashy and loud, and she realizes now that it was just one more way for him to gain validation on an idealized version of himself, the fucking bastard — but with Daniel’s long, curly eyelashes fluttering closed, she suddenly finds her knees feeling weak, her throat growing dry and her lungs refusing to take breath in. 

She’s falling (or was it fallen, now?) in love with her brother-in-law.

Well, _fuck_.

It takes another cycle before Daniel comes walking out of the tunnels, waggling a phone in her direction. She _feels_ her eyes grow bigger. 

“Where’d you get that?” she has to fight herself to keep her voice quiet, scrabbling at it. Daniel’s shoulders are looser, a smile coming easier to his face. She catches herself leaning towards it, wondering what it tastes like before she comes back to the present — not now, Grace! _Focus! Fuck!!_

“Fitch. Though now he won’t be distracted by crossbow videos and texting.” Daniel warns and Grace cups the phone like something precious. Seven cycles and they haven’t had a working phone before. Fuck, it’s been a week’s worth of nights, and they’re no closer to solving this thing.

She chews on her lip, thinking, before consulting him in a hurried whisper. “What should we do with it? Call the cops?”

His eyebrows do a dance and he shrugs, “If you think it’ll work. Didn’t you say OnStar didn’t believe you either?” Fucking rich people and their goddamn influence. Fuck!

Her shoulders slump. “Then what?” she asks, confused as to what even inspired him to borrow or even steal the phone, she isn’t sure which. “What the fuck are you thinking, Daniel?” 

Grace loves and loathes in equal measure the smirk on his face as he comes closer and she realizes how he’s boxed her in between the wall and the door to the tunnel, still open, _always_ open, though she feels no inkling of fear. 

“Tell me this is wrong,” she knows he’s not talking about the phone. His eyes are on her mouth and she licks her lips in anticipation. Daniel’s eyes jolt up to hers, his body still swaying towards her with his hands coming to rest on the wall on either side of her. “Tell me I’m reading into this; that I shouldn’t be wanting you like this. That you don’t want me back.” 

Her hand comes up to press on his chest, curling her fingers into the fabric over his heart. He stops. She can’t find words for several long moments. 

“Survive and then you’ll get your answer.” She kind of hates herself a little bit, because who knows how many more cycles that will take? 

Daniel doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t move away, either. Just chuckles, squinting playfully at her. “Are you setting _goals_ for us, Gracie?” there’s that nickname again, and she finds she likes it from him, even if it was primarily used by one of the more disgusting of her foster parents and made her have a knee-jerk reaction of _‘It’s Grace’_ before this. “How dangerously _domestic_.” he teases and she rolls her eyes.

“I wouldn’t have to if you would _focus_.” it makes him tilt his head back and laugh, though she claps fingers over his mouth to muffle the sound, her shushing him in the next moment. “Do you want somebody to hear us? Jesus, Daniel.” she chastises through a hiss, though there’s still a smile on her face. 

He’s got crows feet around his eyes from smiling so wide and she feels the floor give way under her again as his hand comes away from the wall to take hold of her wrist in the most gentlest manner, guiding each one of her fingertips over his lips. He kisses each one, watching her watch him and her skin pricks with goosebumps. 

“Who would’ve thought you to be the romantic of the family.” she murmurs, eyes blown wide. 

Daniel’s smile is heart wrenching. It’s pure happiness, in just a bubble of time. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re trying to woo the girl you’re in love with.” 

That’s the prick of a needle to pop the bubble they’re in and the reality of their situation whooshes back into stark contrast to the moment. His family is looking for her, to kill her, and she’s biding time away, almost necking like a teenager in her _wedding dress_ with her _brother-in-law_. The shakes are back. He seems to pick up on the change of atmosphere and he raises her hand, the one the phone’s still in and turns it on, drawing her attention to it. He already has the Wikipedia article for Hide-and-Seek brought up. 

“You wanted a loophole? I think I found one.” he says. 

  
  


***

They don’t start the plan until the next cycle. She tells Cam they might’ve figured something out, keeping it vague on purpose and he says he never had any doubt that they wouldn’t win. She’s oddly emotional, and is a downright mess when she thanks him on the steps. His smile is serene and calming. It only causes her to cry more.

“I hope you two have a happy life,” he tells her and she sobs, wrecked by how tired she is. This is it, she thinks. They’re finally getting out.

Their eyes meet across the table, the card held up to show the rest of the family what she drew. He gives her a nod, disguised as a sigh and she goes through her lines, playing her role. 

As the record plays, she still swaps out her shoes, opting to cut her wedding dress, too, because it doesn’t feel right, not going through those steps. 

She once more skips listening to Alex try and justify himself, feeling no love loss after a week of having him try and sacrifice her, night after night. She can still see the stray bit of hope Daniel holds out for his brother to not follow in the steps of the rest of their family, but Grace has learned, through very physical wounds and cowardice lies, that Alex isn’t the man Daniel believes him to be. He definitely wasn’t the man _she_ had once believed him to be, either. 

“You ready?” he asks her when he opens the tunnel into the Billiard’s Room and turns to find her in her corner. The bourbon still burns, and she takes a deep breath in. They still have time, just a quick moment before she’ll need to go onto the next step of the plan.

She nods. She’s shaking, but this time, it’s adrenaline. She just wants it to be over. Emilie’s already killed Clara, like she does every night. “Remember: you have to play it like the first time.” He sighs through his nose, taking a quick glance towards the door, just in case. “Trust me, it’s going to work.” she can’t help it, needing to reach out, fit a hand over his bicep, squeezing gently. 

He stands there an extra moment, watching her before he swiftly cups gentle hands around her face and for a moment, she flashes to the first night, when Alex snapped. But where Alex is corrupted, razor edges that he tries to hide, Daniel isn’t and instead of holding her still in a crushing embrace, he tilts her head down just so, enough for him to press a kiss to her forehead. 

“Ten second head start. Please be careful.” he murmurs to her and she nods, letting her fingertips drag over his scruffy jaw as she moves away, running to make it to the Game Room. 

She waits, hiding in the same armoire that Daniel had once hidden Alex in and upon hearing the distraction call from the Billiards Room, Grace listens as Charity hurries to respond to it after finding Alex gone. The box is there, right where Tony left it, right where she remembered it being when she went back for the elephant gun on the first night. She skips the gun, takes the box and follows the servant’s tunnels to the hallway that leads to the Dining Room. 

Daniel comes in, out of breath after a few minutes. “Cameras are down, it’s showtime.” he tells her and she swallows, offering the box out to him. Both of their hands are shaking when they trade it off. 

Grace watches as Daniel places the box at the head of the table, in front of the opulent chair, older than the others and clearly taken care of. She takes another chair from around the table and sits at the foot, folding her hands neatly on the surface. Daniel takes his seat to her right and for a second, the only things she can hear are their breathing and the fire crackling merrily. 

“Olly olly oxen free,” Daniel says and the fire roars, much like it had when Le Bail showed himself to her the first time, after exploding the remaining survivors. He’d saved Alex for last then, and she has a moment of curiosity on if he’ll be the last this time, too. His ghost stays for longer than a few seconds this time, his eyes tracking between the two of them, obviously waiting for Grace to begin. 

“The game is over. The Head of the Le Domas family, The Seeker, has called an end to it.” she straightens her shoulders, raising her chin. It’s a ballsy idea, hastily strewn together, but if it’ll work… it’ll be worth it. “As a Le Domas, and chosen liaison, I’ve come to you to negotiate a new deal. We figured out your game and how to beat it, and have new terms to discuss.” 

Le Bail inclines his head in obvious agreeance and Grace watches Daniel grip the side of the table until his knuckles are white. She knows the feeling. Remembering to relax herself, she ignores the commotion in the rest of the house. She knows how to do this, she just has to approach it calmly.

“Take the others as sacrifice, payment, whatever you want to call it, but Daniel and I walk free, unharmed. Since the… _dominion_ will be ours, we’ll make sure to continue to release games featuring Mister Le Bail, fulfilling the need for you to live through belief.”

Daniel’s head snaps around from watching Le Bail to looking at her, interrupting with a soft, “What?”

She licks her lips. It was a theory, one she’s been chewing on since the very first night, the first time she heard the story and what came of the other wealthy families. “The box, the pact, Le Bail, has no power without belief. Nothing theological does. If nobody believed the pact was true, then it wouldn’t be. It’s the same belief that priests place within crucifixes and holy water.” her eyes return to Le Bail, swearing she can see a smirk on his ghostly visage that’s more transparent than opaque. “That’s why you killed all those who didn’t respect the tradition. Right?” 

He nods.

Daniel sighs out a shuddering breath, shifting in his seat. “Holy shit.” 

Grace returns back to the negotiations. “No more sacrifices. These, today, will be the last. The Le Domases will no longer be a claim to you, instead, we willingly are entering into a partnership. Our souls will go where they are judged to go, when our natural times are up.” The fire roars, and Le Bail’s eyes seem to glow, his face contorting in anger. “We’ll keep the box safe, and in turn, we’ll use it to convert more believers. You take Hide and Seek off the table, with no other game having life-or-death stakes replacing it, and we’ll tell whomever wants to listen, your tale. What you choose to do with their belief is your own volition.” 

The commotion is growing louder, the clock growing closer to the metaphorical twelfth hour. “These are our demands, which I think you’ll find are still in your favor. Take however long you need to consider them.” 

***

  
  


It’s oddly serene, sitting on the south lawn at three am. The birds are quiet, there’s an ever-slight breeze that blows by and cuts the heat of the night. And though she’s looking forward to taking a pair of scissors and cutting up the dress until it’s nothing more than strips of fabric, for once it’s not soaked in blood. Her manicure is still impeccable. Her hair still immaculate.

In her lap sits Becky’s case, picked up in the hallway on the way to the door amidst guts and startling amounts of blood, and next to it, Le Bail’s box. Daniel lights her cigarette like only a true gentleman can, with his own zippo he pulls from his trouser pocket, before he lights his own and exhales his breath with a soft, “Holy shit.” 

It makes a chuckle start with her that he mirrors and soon they’re both hysterical in their laughter, tears leaking down both of their cheeks once they catch their breath again. 

“I can’t believe you did that.” he says once they catch their breath, his eyes watching the night sky above, breathing in another lungful of smoke. There’s a crash from inside the house they both ignore. She’s already looking at him when he drops his chin to look at her. “I mean, you _actually_ did that.”

“What?” she asks. “Save you?” She’s riding the high of winning, feeling happy and can’t help but notice the moon casts him in a startling different light than the fire that’s started inside the house. She can’t look away.

He’s far more animated now that he’s sober. He motions to the box, “I meant negotiating a fucking deal with _The Devil_ , because you know that’s who he is, right?” it makes a laugh bubble out of her before she turns, sealing her mouth around the filter of her cigarette, finally breaking eye contact. “That’s who you just sold your soul off to.” he points out and she makes a noise, shaking her head.

“No I didn’t, I agreed to _work_ for him.” she raises her eyebrows as she blows the smoke out, “I never said how often we would tell his tale. I never said I wouldn’t pass it off as a farce, and I _fucking_ made sure that he had no claim on _either_ of our souls.” she tilts her chin just so, proud of herself.

It’s obvious he hadn’t even considered any of that, and she tilts her head, “Did Alex really not tell any of you what I do?” It causes Daniel to frown, a quick cast of a look over his shoulder towards the house that’s now almost entirely consumed with fire. No sirens within earshot, though, which just solidifies Grace’s belief that the rich really are evil motherfuckers.

“I’m a lawyer.” she explains, and Daniel stills next to her, blinking.

Finally, he gives a, “Huh,” before he motions over to the fountain area where twelve hours (and a week, if you count how many nights they’ve relived) ago, they were taking wedding pictures. “You know, I lied,” it’s said in such a teasing, lighthearted way that Grace doesn’t start to panic, instead another laugh startling out of her. “I told Charity you had a soul — obviously I was mistaken. If I had known your chosen profession, I never would’ve assumed!” he pauses to take the last puff before flicking his butt onto the grass, much like she had the night before and she gives him a wide, relieved smile, unperturbed in his apparent dislike for her job. “A _lawyer_ , really?” he asks. 

She nods before both of their attentions get pulled to the front of the house, where sirens are now approaching. There’ll be nothing left of the house, it’s entirely up in flames now, exactly as Le Bail designed it to. Both of them stand, and Grace holds tight to both the box and the case, fully intending to follow through on the outlines of their new pact. 

“You know,” Daniel starts, brushing his hands off on each other before he tucks them into his pockets, looking the very definition of _aloof_ , “you never did tell me you didn’t want me back.” there’s shouting from the first responders at the front of the house and she feels a smirk pull at her lips as she steps closer to him. 

“I never gave you an answer — never said I’m in love with you, too, did I?” they share a smile and she fingers his bow tie, still hanging loose around his neck. “But you knew. How?”

Daniel shrugs, squinting one eye closed as the side of his thumb traces over her jaw. “I think the ‘willing to relive the worst night in her life in order to save me’ thing _might’ve_ given it away.” he jokes before he bends. A few centimeters away, he stops, hovering over her, letting her close the gap and come to him. Letting her choose whether or not the kiss happens. “Have I said, ‘thank you’ for that, by the way?” 

She smiles gently, shaking her head, still not closing the gap, seeing how long he’ll wait. She lets a handful of heartbeats pass before she speaks, “That’s okay, we’ll teach you some manners, Mr. Le Domas.” she cracks a wide smile then, full of teeth, watching him through slitted eyes as he raises his eyebrows. 

“ _Mr. Le Domas_ ? Is it kind of weird I want to call you _Mrs. Le Domas_?” she dissolves into laughter, leaning forward to shut him up with a kiss. 

  
  


They won.

  
  



End file.
